The past is never far behind
by Sylvie Orp
Summary: Ever wondered about the past?  Apologies to all folk from Derby.  Since Doyle comes from there, I had to set it there.  Let's say that there's quite a different Derby from the obvious one!


The past is never far behind

Bodie tracked Henry Green down to a run-down estate on the edge of town. He was a dirty, grubby little man living in a dirty, grubby little bungalow. It was clear from the mess and the smell that he lived alone and didn't expect, or welcome, many visitors. Bodie tried to keep his contempt under control but wasn't sure he'd succeeded. He didn't try too hard.

"Now, Mr Green, you told Mr Cowley that you saw …" and so the interview droned on. Bodie sat on the edge of broken easy chair which reeked of dog, sweat and alcohol. He tried not to make too much contact with the seating, making the interview increasingly uncomfortable for himself. Every now and then Bodie got up as though making a statement or emphasising a point, when in fact he was easing the cramp in his legs and trying not to fall over the bits of broken furniture and flex leads which snaked all over the carpet connecting broken electrics to dodgy sockets. When the interview was drawing to a natural conclusion, and Bodie had run out of questions, Green, who was by now more relaxed and garrulous, took a diversion down memory lane. Bodie was gagging for fresh air and as much cold water as he could get down his throat – even beer wouldn't slake his thirst – initially.

"Reminds me of a time" Green was saying, "when I lived in Derby. If you want poverty, you should have seen that place." Looking at Bodie's sceptical face, Mr Green went on, "Oh I know what the tourists see, but there is a seamier side, believe me." Bodie wanted to cut off Green's reminiscences but the mention of Derby, his partner's birthplace, held him off – for now. "A place is what you make, Mr Bodie, but there are limits (_so I see_, Bodie thought distastefully). We lived next to the Doyle family. What a case they were. Now if you want stories, I could tell you a thing there." Doyle was a fairly common name and this could be no relation at all, or only an aunt or grandparent. Nonetheless Bodie tried not to show too much interest. "What were they like?" he asked neutrally, "Why do you remember them in particular?"

"Mr Doyle was a right bully. You avoided him like the plague, and living next door made that a bit difficult. The wife (_you had a wife_? Bodie asked himself incredulously) tried to make a friend of Mrs Doyle and the kiddies (_more than one then_?) but she was a very shy woman – well she would be, wouldn't she? If she as much as talked to someone his Lordship didn't approve of, or looked at another man, then he was free with his fists. It didn't stop at her either. Mrs D tried to protect Millie, and Ray tried to protect both of them. But what can kids do against that kind of tyrant, Mr Bodie?" Bodie nearly missed the question as his mind fastened on that one word – Ray. "Tell me about it." Bodie said flatly, crouching on the arm of the easy chair.

"Well, the police were round often as not. Probably Social Services too, but I don't really know about that, and of course Mrs D wouldn't say. She'd try to keep the kiddies with her. I don't know why women put up with that kind of thing. You'd think she'd get out for the children's sake if not for her own." Bodie mumbled that he didn't know the circumstances. Green continued. "Well, one day I heard a ruckus next door. Nothing unusual there. Then I heard a scream – louder than usual. I went out the front where the noise was coming from. There was Mrs D with little Millie in her arms and her man looming large over her screaming and shouting about his dinner. Then I saw young Ray …" "How old were the children at this point, Mr Green?" Bodie interjected, hoping that it wouldn't put the man off his stride. "Oh, Millie must have been around 10 and young Ray about 13. Wiry little chap, as brave as a lion, and good with his fists even at that age. I wonder where he got that from!" Green snorted a laugh and went on. "Yes, Ray would stand up to his dad all right. He could move quick to dodge the blows and wasn't averse to picking up whatever was to hand to belt his dad with! Course, Mr D usually got the better of it and Ray would take his sister into hiding for a few days while the heat cooled off, and hoped his Mum would survive without him. He couldn't take them both it seemed. And, no, don't ask me where he holed up. I don't know. If his Mum did, she wasn't telling anyone. It was safe, that's all there was to know but clearly not a place where the children could hide for ever." Green then went off into a reverie. "What happened on this particular day, Mr Green?" Bodie prompted.

"Oh yes. Well, Ray came belting up the street. I guess he heard the screams. And a few of the neighbours heard it too. Ray took it all in in a moment, and he and his Old Man went at it like alley cats. Trading blows, insults and anything else that came to hand. You wouldn't think a boy of his age would know that kind of language. Anyway, I think Ray may have known that Millie was in a bad way from how his Mum was going on. Terrible sound it was. Somewhere between a scream and a moan by then. Well, after a bit Mr D fell to the ground and Ray went with him, still giving it his all. It was a picture to see him getting the upper hand at last. But then His Lordship got hold of a brick or a stone or some such from the ground and belted young Ray over the head with it. You should have heard the crack. I heard it from where I was." (_Safe in your bloody garden_, Bodie thought bitterly. _And what were the rest of the neighbours doing too? – Just looking on I suppose_.) Bodie tried to reign in his anger in order to concentrate on the tale. Even if his wasn't 'his' Ray, it was still a shocking story of Joe Public just looking on.

"Ray slumped." Green went on. "It was clear that he wasn't going to fight any more but that didn't stop Mr Doyle laying in. It was as though he was a train that couldn't stop. He kept hitting Ray over the head. Then I heard a siren. Someone must have phoned the cops. (_Thank God someone had some sense_.) Mr Doyle got up and I thought that he was going to do a runner. I was ready to tackle him if he did. (_Yeah, sure,_ Bodie thought bitterly.) But he hadn't finished with his son yet. He kicked him black and blue. His mother just sat there rocking Millie in her arms and keening. When she saw that her husband was actually going to kill him this time, she kept screaming "No, Ken, No. Enough." But of course he was past reason by then. God, you should have seen the anger and the hate in his face. Well the cops came at the double and even the two of them couldn't hold him down. One of them radioed for back-up but got a mouthful of fist for his troubles. With his partner out, the other cop tried to back off, tried to get between Mr Doyle and his son – he was still prepared to finish what he'd started – if he hadn't already. The cop looked dead scared. (_Still not pitching in to help_?) Then the ambulance turned up but the medics wouldn't go into the garden with all that going on. I told them that they could come into my back garden and through into theirs and creep up the passage into their front garden that way to at least get Mrs D away with Millie. They had to leave their stretcher behind, but they did it, Mr Bodie. Brave buggers. Mr D didn't even seem to notice or care. It was stand-off between him and the cop. (_Best front row you've ever had, eh_?) Well, the copper held him off long enough for back up to arrive in a van and it took four of them to drag him in and away, screaming and kicking. The injured copper was just coming to by then. His mate kept telling him to keep down in case Mr D got free. Once they got the raging bull out of the way, of course, the paramedics could do the business. So that was just one incident out my way, Mr Bodie. Like living in a war zone sometimes."

But Bodie wasn't free of the story. Bodie knew very little of Ray's background and all this could well have nothing to do with his partner, but he was intrigued in any case. "When was this?" "Oh, years ago now." He could see from Bodie's face that a more precise answer was required. He wasn't accustomed to an audience for his tales and it took a while for the rusty cogs to turn before he told Bodie that it was 10 or 15 years ago. It didn't take a second for Bodie to do the maths. "Tell me what happened to the family – the mother and the kids. Was Millie dead?"

"Yes, poor kid. It was in the paper. Headline news. She'd fractured her skull. I don't know the ins and outs. He argued that he hadn't touched her. That she'd fallen in the garden. Can't imagine what his excuse was for trashing his son. Then we had pictures of young Ray. Miraculously he'd survived the battle, but it looked very much like he'd lose the war. He was on life support and the hospital had agreed to release pictures of the poor bugger. His mother wouldn't have recognised him. You could hardly make out any of his features. Seemed to have lost at least one eye, if not both. The headlines where screaming: how could a father do this to his own son? – that kind of thing." Bodie felt sick. Green saw the effect his tale was having on his listener and was enjoying the feeling of finally being centre stage. He relented and brought Bodie a shot of scotch from somewhere. For once, Bodie wasn't fussy about the state of the glass. He drank it down like his life depended on it. Green gave him another and told him to take it easy. (Hint: you're not getting another!)

"Well, me and the missus went to the hospital a few days later to see how the lad was doing." (_I bet you couldn't wait,_ Bodie thought cynically.) The hospital wouldn't tell us much, not being relatives and all, but there didn't look much hope for him. If he did survive, he'd just be a vegetable. My missus said that the lad looked so small and helpless. I said that if she'd seen him giving Goliath a bashing she wouldn't be saying that!"

Green seemed to have run out of steam again. Bodie asked what happened to the family after the dust had settled. "Well, there was a trial of course. It was hinted, but never proved, that Mr D wasn't just physically abusing Millie, if you know what I mean. The judge might have taken the gossip into account as he gave Mr Doyle 20 years, but he only served three." Bodie looked aghast. "After what he'd just done?" Green laughed, pleased that Bodie had fallen into the trap he'd cleverly laid. "Well, you see, Mr D died in jail. They don't take kindly to kiddie killers, so I believe, in jail. The busies turn a blind eye. Is that true?" "I don't know" Bodie replied, trying to keep his patience. "I'm not police." "Oh no. I forgot. You look so much like one." Bodie took a deep breath and another sip of whisky, and waited. He wasn't going to prompt again. The steely glare got to Green and he carried on.

"Well, I believe that Mrs D had a mental breakdown. It wasn't so much the state of Ray – though God knows, that would be enough to turn anyone – but the loss of Millie. She doted on that girl. Clung to her. I suppose they clung to each other. So with Mr D in jail, Ray on life support and Mrs D in a loony bin, it was left to the Council to bury poor Millie. There was only me, the wife, and the headmaster at the funeral. Oh, and another bloke, but we don't know who he was. Off-duty copper, my wife said. But it wasn't one of the two who'd turned up at the house, that I do know. It could have been social services." "What happened to Ray?" That was the question uppermost in Bodie's mind.

"Well, somehow the kid survived. But I don't suppose he was the same again. I heard that he'd been packed off to some distant relative down south, or it could have been a kids' home. Might even have been some kind of hospital. Anyway, the house and goods were sold off by the year's end. A few years later my dear Martha died (_Oh, she had a name, did she? _ Bodie thought maliciously) so I moved away. To here. A sad story for a sad family. Like I say, you can't choose your neighbours or neighbourhood can you? You just do the best you can."

Bodie said his goodbye and drove very slowly and very thoughtfully back to base. He wondered whether to tell his partner if he knew the family or – worse – if it was the family Bodie thought it was. He decided to keep quiet until and unless he was backed into a corner. It would then be a case of how much to tell Ray how much he knew. After all, it was only Green's version of events. Bodie could do some detective work on the side without CI5 resources: find a death certificate for the little girl and where she was buried. Look at old press cuttings of the case. Find out where Mrs D was, if still alive. But he decided to do none of these things. It was like reading someone else's private mail. Cowley wouldn't hesitate, but Bodie was a little more squeamish. If it was in the line of duty, then of course. But if it was a mate …

During the assignment they were working on, Bodie was careful not to allow Doyle anywhere near Green in case they did know each other from a tragic past. Bodie wanted to spare Doyle too many painful memories. However, luck and fate weren't on his side. They were called on to take part, with Special Branch, to take the warehouse where the contraband was stored. During the shoot-out which followed two of the gang were killed, one injured and the others rounded up. CI5 and Special Branch managed to get out unscathed. As Bodie and Doyle looked for bodies, they turned over a packing case and there was the first body – Arthurson. The second was a little distance away – Green. Bodie was surprised. He knew that Green dabbled on the fringes of the law, with fencing and snouting, hence their interest in him, but didn't think he got his hands dirty. He didn't look as though he had the courage or the brains to go out on a job. Having got over that surprise, Bodie then risked a glance at his partner to see if there was any recognition there. Doyle was kneeling next to the man seemingly lost in thought. "I think that's Green." Bodie said as neutrally as he could, as an opener. "Yeah, I think you're right." Doyle said. He sounded almost bored. "You know him?" was as close as Bodie could get to being nosy. Doyle just got up and walked away. _Yeah, you know him_, thought Bodie, but didn't press the matter – then. Bodie did the driving later that afternoon back to headquarters. They had been busy tidying up at the warehouse and this was the first time they'd had a quiet moment to themselves. Doyle was animated and wrapped up in the case for the first part of the journey and they had batted theories and stratagems between them. As they headed along the A-road Doyle became more introspective. "Fancy a beer later?" Bodie asked. But Ray put him off and said he had chores.

Bodie picked up Ray from home next day. Cowley had asked for them bright and early to go over the ends of the case. A hazy-eyed partner met him. "You look rough," said Bodie, playing innocent. "Bit of a rough night," he replied, getting in the passenger side. "Oh, anyone I know?" grinned his partner. "Knock it off, Bodie!" was the prickly response. After a few miles of silence, Doyle told Bodie to pull over as he wanted the chemist. Bodie stifled the comment he was going to make. It was clear that Doyle wasn't in the mood for ribaldry. He watched his partner leave the pharmacy and go next door to the grocers. Bodie looked at his watch. They were going to be late if Doyle was going to do his week's shopping now. Doyle threw himself into the car. He was clearly in a mood. He munched down three paracetamol and drank half a bottle of water he'd just bought. "Look, Ray, if you're not well –" "I didn't say I wasn't well," growled his partner. Bodie had a good inkling for the temper, but he wasn't going to let him get away with it. "Look, if we're in the field of fire, I don't want to take a bullet because you're too bleary-eyed or cross-eyed to counter the attack." That riled Doyle as little else could. He felt that his professionalism was being called into question.

The row lasted until they arrived, both seething at each other, at HQ. As the pair strode into Cowley's office, it took less than a second for Cowley to see that things were not well between them. Well, they'd just have to sort it out for themselves. Cowley may be a cow giving milk, but he wasn't a dairymaid. He told them that he'd been looking into the backgrounds of the gang. Bodie felt his stomach tighten. "One of them comes from your neck of the woods, Doyle" Cowley added conversationally. _You know damned well one does_, thought Bodie. _Stop playing with him_. That just got a "Really" from Doyle who'd gone back to a bored tone. Beats chewing the furniture. Then the penny dropped with Bodie and he wondered how he'd missed it. It was better that Doyle feigned indifference and the subject changed than for him to rage, as would have been usual, and say something in an unguarded angry moment. _Clever Doyle_, thought Bodie. The theory was proved when Cowley looked for a few moments at Doyle, who'd suddenly found the pattern on the carpet very interesting, then suggested that the two agents go out to Southend to look up some old cronies of Arthurson. It didn't sound too dangerous so Bodie didn't mention Doyle's headache to Cowley. He'd keep any conversation with his partner to a minimum. He'd prefer not to have another row and there were only so many painkillers to go round.

That evening Bodie dropped Ray off and was surprised that Doyle invited him up, and set off the batting. "Cowley asked whether I knew Green from the past. Of course Cowley knew already. He has a file on us a mile deep. I bet it's his favourite bedtime reading! You saw Green didn't you?" "Yes," Bodie said cautiously, "He told me old history stuff not related to the case. But I'm not prying, Ray." Doyle was about to explode and tell Bodie to go to hell and take his curiosity with him, when he suddenly became tired. So very tired. The fire drained out of him.

Since he'd seen Green's body at the warehouse, Doyle had been trying to block out the memories. During the rest of that busy day it had been easy, but the night had to come at some point. In the early hours he'd tried a cocktail of aspirin and paracetamol. That had run out quite quickly with no noticeable effect. He was reluctant to go onto the alcohol. He didn't want to be carted away with a suspected overdose "while the balance of his mind was disturbed". So he'd kept company with his family history till Bodie came for him that morning. No point in getting dressed, he hadn't changed from the previous day. He regretted the row with Bodie. Most of the time Bodie deserved everything Ray could throw at him; but not this time. Ray was in a strop, and that wasn't Bodie's fault. But his pride wouldn't let him apologise then, nor admit that his friend was right that if he was unfit for active service then he should phone in sick and not risk his partner's life. He knew that Bodie was waiting for a response. "Sorry I've been a pain in the arse," Doyle murmured, keeping his gaze on his cup of tea. "You haven't eaten much today," Bodie hedged. "Are you ready for something? I'm sure I could scrape something together," he added uncertainly, his gaze raking round Doyle's kitchen. "I'm not _that_ hungry!" Doyle countered. It was the first attempt at humour all day, and Bodie welcomed it. "Dinner out, then. My treat – unless you've still got that headache?" Doyle still looked grey and drawn. He hadn't seen him reaching for the tablets again that day, but that didn't mean that he hadn't been munching on the quiet to avoid another row. "Take away?" Doyle countered. "You're on." Bodie didn't fancy a strained evening to go with the strained day they'd had, each waltzing round a minefield, but if Ray wanted to talk then he hoped it may clear the air.

"You saw Green yesterday, didn't you?" Doyle said again. It sounded like an accusation to Bodie's sensitive ears but he tried to take it matter of factly. "Yes," Bodie said softly, girding up for the next set of questions and still debating how to answer them. "What did he say?" Bodie could have told him about the assignment but knew that that wasn't what Doyle wanted to know and he would have got furious for being patronising. "I wasn't prying, Ray. I didn't even know Green came from Derby. All that came out of the blue. He got onto neighbours past and present and before I could stop him – it was nothing to do with the case after all – his mind was in Derby and living next door to the Doyle family." Doyle wasn't going to repeat his question, so he remained quiet. Bodie was well aware of interrogation techniques, and long silences were very effective to get criminals to talk. But Bodie had by now decided that he would come clean about it. Just as he was going to get underway, the doorbell rang. Doyle jumped and automatically slid his hand under his jumper. His gun wasn't there of course, but it didn't stop him reaching for it. It showed Bodie how keyed up Ray was. Wordlessly, Doyle forced himself to go slowly and casually to the door, pay off the deliveryman and set up for dinner. "I said I'd pay," Bodie protested but Doyle would have none of it and they compromised that Bodie would pay for the next meal. Bodie made some China tea (he still wasn't sure how many painkillers Doyle had been taking) and once they'd settled down again, Bodie resumed his narrative.

"Well, Green said that …" "No, Bodie. No paraphrasing. I want it all – verbatim." "You like pain, do you Ray?" "Yeah. I'm hoping you're a sadist!" Bodie was quiet for a while and watched while a smile stuttered uncertainly across Doyle's face. Bodie mirrored the grin. "All right, de Sade. You asked for it." Bodie marshalled his thoughts and spooned more rice on Doyle's plate. He still wasn't eating much and the story Bodie was about to relate wasn't going to improve his appetite. "I'm not eating for two you know!" Bodie said to lighten the mood before be began. "Since when? Get on with it." Bodie took a deep breath and reported as much as he remembered, editing here and there as he went – such as the war zone crack and Mr D's rumoured (emphasise: rumoured) predilection towards his daughter. Doyle fell silent during the narration, playing with the rice on his plate but putting little down his throat. "I'm sorry," Bodie concluded quietly. "Don't be. I asked you to recite, and you've recited. I don't shoot the messenger just because the news is crap. Besides, there was a bit there I didn't know about." Bodie was afraid to ask, but curiosity got the better of him. "Which bit?" "On your toes, Bodie. The bit after I lost consciousness on the lawn, of course." "Yeah, sorry."

"You want to hear my side of it?" "Yes, of course. I only have Green's version, and we know that every story has more than one side. But only if you want to." Bodie got a spoon of rice and put it up to Doyle's mouth. "I could try mouth to mouth resuscitation you know, after I've force fed you!" glowered Bodie. Doyle smiled, but his eyes were swimming. He looked away embarrassed.

When he'd got his emotions under control he began: "When I came round in the hospital, I'd worked out for myself about Millie, and it was no surprise that Dad had gone down. Not really a surprise about Mum either really in view of what happened. Well, if you were of a nervous disposition, Bodie, and you had a dead kid in your arms and you take a grandstand view of your son being kicked to death, well it'd be a bit hard to bear really, wouldn't it?" Doyle's voice cracked and he had to look away again. Bodie didn't ask whether Doyle could bear the conversation any more: it was up to him to say 'enough'. "Hard to stomach, too," Bodie added quietly, "knowing that the neighbours were standing around lapping it all up and doing nothing, not even when the cops came and it was obvious they were out-numbered." "Well, that's the British reserve for you." He sounded more resigned than bitter.

"After I got well enough to stand up, I was packed off down south to an aunt and uncle I barely remembered. They hadn't got kids of their own so it was a bit of a challenge to suddenly have an unruly teenager on their hands. But they did their best. I was fed and watered and, when I felt like it, I even went to school." Doyle said that last bit as though it was something quite extraordinary. "I wouldn't have thought it!" exclaimed Bodie in pseudo-shock. "I bided my time," Doyle continued. "Then, after three years of course, I went off the rails big time." "Why 'of course'?" "Well, my dad died after three years in prison, my mum died three years after being committed. Ergo, I was going to die three years after being sent away. It was a great feeling, Bodie. Whatever I did didn't matter. If I was going to die – and I was – then I could do what the hell I wanted with no conse-quences. It was like a weight lifting." Doyle was actually smiling at the memory. Bodie felt cold at the young Doyle's state of mind at that time. "Did you ever get help? You know, counselling. If not then, but before – like when you were in hospital?" Bodie knew he was rambling but it sounded shocking that there seemed to be no-one that the young Doyle could have turned to. "Share my mum's psychiatrist you mean?" Bodie didn't know how to react to that. "I can't remember if that was offered. I was a bit confused at the hospital and then, of course, I was sent away." "They have psychiatrists wherever you live, Ray." Bodie said softly. The meal had now been forgotten and lay in a congealed mess on the table between them. "Well, it was a long time ago. And here I am, whole and sane." Ray crossed his eyes and beamed a smile as false as his bonhomie. The smile didn't reach his heart, and it was Bodie's turn to look away.

"So, I've told you the highlights of my entertaining youth. Come on. I want to hear yours. It's only fair." "Let's clear away first." _Then I can tell you about an ordinary family where I wasn't terrified of coming home every day_, Bodie thought. After they'd cleared the dishes Bodie wasn't let off the hook. His delaying tactics hadn't worked against the skills of a trained agent. "Well" Bodie began over a cup of tea and biscuits. (At least Doyle was eating those.) "My dear Mum gave birth to a baby of extraordinary beauty …" "I thought you were an only child!" Doyle interjected. "If you're going to be rude, I'll leave now." Bodie said in his best hurt camp manner. "No, go on. I need a bed-time story." _To counter your night-mares_? "We lived on the wrong side of Liverpool." "Is there a right side?" Bodie made a show of leaving. "Sorry, sorry. I'll keep quiet, I promise." "Well, despite being a bit short of cash now and then, we made the best of it. Dad was on the docks and a union man so was in work more than out (strikes permitting) which was more than could be said for some of my parents' friends and neighbours, and … well, there's not much more than that." "Did you get on with your parents?" This seemed to be an important question for Doyle and Bodie became serious in order to answer it honestly. "Up till my teens, we ticked along fine. But you know what it's like when you're growing up. You kick against the traces. You think your folks are stuck in the past. Their values aren't the same as yours. They don't like your friends, they don't like the length of your hair, your music, etc etc. There were increasing rows with my dad which got a bit out of hand sometimes, particularly when I'd had a few. So it was a relief to all concerned when I left home. Dad was almost proud of me when I joined the Navy. But that stopped, of course, when I jumped ship! I visited them now and then when I was home from Africa. Then news came through that Mum was ill – really ill. Fortunately I was home in time for – you know." "So you could say goodbye." "Yeah." Doyle could see that Bodie didn't want to go into any further detail so they decided to watch the late night match on TV. Doyle fell asleep before the half-time whistle blew. Bodie made use of the spare bed.

Later that week Cowley had Bodie to himself. "You two seemed to have settled your differences – whatever they may be." _If this is a fishing expedition_, Bodie thought, _I'm not biting_. Following the ensuing silence, Cowley turned to more direct tactics. "Green came from Derby." "Yeah, you said." Coming from Bodie, it was almost insubordination. "Did you know that he was a neighbour of the Doyle family?" "Yes, he told me." "Do you want to know the end of it?" "Does Ray know 'the end'?" "I don't think so, which is why I thought I'd pass it by you and for you to decide whether to tell him. If you wish not to hear it, we'll leave it at that now." Cowley knew how to dangle a big fat worm in front of a hungry barracuda. With some hesitation, Bodie bit. "Where are you in the story?" Cowley asked. _Damn you_, Bodie thought, trying to extricate himself from Cowley's trap. He gave Cowley just the headlines. "Well, I know that his dad died in jail and his mum in an institution. Ray got sent to relatives. What more is there?" Bodie was almost afraid to ask.

"The child, Millie." Cowley began. "She was buried in a pauper's grave as there was no-one to bury her. The relatives, whom Doyle went to, kept quiet until the arrangements had been made, payments paid, and the deed done. However, they popped their heads above the parapet when the solicitors eventually tracked them down. Now, you can view this with two hats – cynical or compassionate. It's up to you. I just give you the facts. It was so arranged that if Doyle survived and was able to live outside a hospital then the Burnetts would look after him. Why? You may ask. Well, the solicitors were very canny. They sold the family home and contents. The money was put in a trust fund for Doyle – whatever his eventual condition. The Burnetts got 10% of the proceeds up front if they would take Doyle on (medical condition permitting). And here's the clever bit. If they looked after him until his majority then they got an extra 15%. Doyle got the 75% on his 25th birthday. If there were any skullduggery and they wanted to bump Doyle off before he reached his majority, then they got nothing on his death – whatever the cause." "The solicitors probably worked out that they'd know his medical prognosis by his 25th, and in any case he'd be more mature at 25 then at 18." Bodie did some maths and added "He may have still been going off the rails by then anyway." He explained Doyle's 'theory of three' to Cowley. The Cow looked infinitely sad. "Why wasn't there anyone there, Bodie?" "Fortunately there was – eventually. I don't know the who or the why, but someone turned him round and Doyle became a copper rather than another prison statistic." "Or a death statistic. Doyle is there for the kids in Blacktown now where he's helped to set up a youth club. It looks like he's turning kids around for himself. They're getting the help he never had at the time he needed it."

"Sir. Could you find out where Millie is buried? Doyle may want to know. He hasn't asked. It may be too painful but …" Bodie trailed off as Cowley held out a slip of paper with a wry smile. "It's the same cemetery as his mother, too. The vicar can show you the way."


End file.
